He and She
by preciselypotter
Summary: Imperfect people sometimes fall into imperfect love. But it's still love, after all, and isn't that the point?
1. May 27th, 1977

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

Okay, so I started this as a simple one-shot, just to find my way out of writer's block. I ended up liking the result so much I didn't want to stop writing so I wrote a second part, and then I knew I couldn't end with that. So I've got a multi-chaptered fic ready to share, mostly because I had a lot of fun with this story. It's possible none of this will make sense to anyone but me and I could seriously do with a critique, but all in all, satisfaction abounds.

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><p><strong>He<strong> **and** **She**

_May_ _27__th__, 1977_

She's lost in thought and her hands moves of its own accord.

_Have you ever fallen in love?_

She writes this at the top of the parchment. She doesn't mean to; the question has been ruminating on her mind for days now and she can't think about homework. Once she realizes what she's written down, she lifts her hand and scratches out the line forcefully. The ink dries on the page.

The words aren't drowned like she hoped them to be. The last word is staring at her accusingly and she can't look away from it.

Has she?

Has she ever been in love?

Has she ever felt her heart beat faster at the sight of someone? Has she ever needed to see that person just to reassure herself that yes, he is still there, still as wonderful and infuriating as she remembers? Has she ever done something idiotic and embarrassing just to make him look her way?

Has she?

She sighs and throws down the quill. The question won't go away and she doesn't know why.

"_I've been good this year, haven't I, Evans?"_

"_Marginally better than last year. That's not saying much."_

"_I haven't done anything bad in two months. No fights, no pranks, nothing to get me detentions."_

"_This is true."_

"_So have I gotten any better?"_

"_I said marginally."_

"_Come on, Evans, level with me."_

"_I have, Potter. Or haven't you been listening?"_

"_That's not what I mean."_

He cracks his knuckles and avoids looking at her. He's all sorts of things - angry and afraid, and embarrassed even. He's ashamed of himself, he's hopeful.

He's waiting.

He didn't mean to say it to her. It came out of him like air. He can only hold his breath for so long; he could only hold the words in for so long. He just wishes they came out better. If she feels the same way as him, then good, that's good, but he yelled at her and told her things she wasn't - isn't - ready to hear.

And now he's ruined his chances with her forever.

He's waited for years. Summer's almost here and he won't see her for two months. For him, it's like fire and agony to know he can't see her and know he can't talk to her, even though when he talks to her all he hears are shouts and it's a weight to bear.

He hopes she'll say something to him before they finish exams. He hopes she'll say something before they get on the train. He hopes she'll give him a small chance before they go their separate ways for the months of July and August.

He's always been a blind optimist.

"_Tell me what you mean, then. I'm not a Legilimens."_

"_One date?"_

"_No."_

"_Just one before the summer hits?"_

"_I said no."_

"_Please?"_

"_Potter, when a girl says no, try to be gracious about it. I know you don't have much practice but the next girl you obsess over shouldn't deal with what you've put me through."_

"_What I've put you through?"_

"_You've been awful to me, or don't you remember?"_

"_I remember fancying you for about four years now, at the very least."_

She knows he's there, only five feet away in the Common Room. She can feel him staring - or rather, not staring.

For years she's begged him to leave her be. Now he's leaving her be and she misses him.

It's stupid.

She has no reason to miss him. She wants him out of her life. She's supposed to be counting the days until summer and they go their separate ways for the months of July and August, because she's a blind optimist and prays somehow that he'll not be back for seventh year.

But she wants him to come up to her and beg for her attention in every impossible way.

Now she understands that she thrives on his attention, the way he thrives on the attentions of others, and she realizes how selfish and self-centered she is. She toys with his heart because it feels good to her.

She's a bad person.

She feels guilty.

"_You don't fancy me."_

"_The hell I don't!"_

"_No. You just like playing games with me. You like asking me out because I won't say yes."_

"_Evans, you've no idea what you're talking about."_

"_I've a fair understanding, yeah."_

"_No, shut up. Have you ever been in love?"_

"_Sorry?"_

He feels his face heat up at the memories of what he said.

He could sit around blaming her if he wanted to, but he doesn't. It's easier to pin everything on her but it's not always right.

Sometimes it is her fault.

When she talks, she makes him feel things he'd rather just put in a box and ignore for the rest of his life. He's only seventeen; he's not ready to feel that much. He'd rather they'd never met - it would make his life so much easier.

But if he thinks about life without her it's the most difficult thing in the world.

He rolls up the essay on Herbology he's been scratching out. He can't write about applications and properties when his mind is cluttered with emotion.

It's due tomorrow, but he'll just have to finish up at breakfast.

"_Have you?  
>Have you ever been in love?<br>Have you ever felt your heart beat faster at the sight of someone?  
>Have you ever needed to see that person just to reassure yourself that yes, she is still there, still as beautiful and frustrating as you remember?<br>Have you ever done something idiotic and embarrassing just to make her look your way?  
>Have you ever died inside when that person - when you - said you weren't enough?<br>That you weren't worthy?"_

She stares at the word again. Love. The "l" loops, the "o" is scrunched and hurried, the "v" resembles a knife, and the "e" is unnecessarily long. But it reads without confusion.

Love, love, love, love, love.

It's all you need. It lifts you up where you belong. It's a temporary madness. It's a single soul inhabiting two bodies. It's the beginning of everything.

For all her silly daydreams and all her fascinations with romance (her tall, dark, and handsome stranger, coming to whisk her away like Prince Charming) she can't claim any firsthand knowledge. She's woefully unschooled and painfully unaware.

She doesn't know if she's ever been in love. She's never been confronted with it before.

She's imagined herself in love. Her first boyfriend, when he kissed her, made her feel blissfully happy and she imagined it was love. When Severus found her and befriended her for seven years, she felt loved and imagined herself in love in turn.

But he describes it so powerfully. It's not the words he uses, it's the way he speaks them. It's not the simple description; it's the light in his eyes.

If love is like that, she's only ever imagined.

She's overwhelmed.

"_I…"_

"_Well? Have you?"_

"_I…"_

"_Because I have. Still am. Probably always will be."_

"_Potter -"_

"_What? Don't tell me you're sorry."_

"_I wasn't going to!"_

"_Oh, so it's my fault now is it? You blame me for having feelings? I can't do anything right, can I?"_

"_I didn't say that! Would you stop putting words in my mouth?"_

He twirls his quill in his hand.

The feathers are light and soft against his skin, just like he imagines her skin would feel if he could ever touch it.

Sirius says he imagines a mystery girl, large breasts and smooth skin and… perfect, perfect, perfect. That anonymous image. He's got a few muggle posters of that girl, all in bikinis and all glassy-eyed. Sirius even put one in his old house, which annoyed his parents.

But he's not Sirius.

He always imagines _her_.

He thinks about her hair, how it never stays straight or wavy or curly, how it has a personality separate from her. He thinks about her face, pale and freckle-specked, her mouth a little too big and her teeth slightly crooked. She's not perfect, but she's beautiful.

Sometimes he wishes he could imagine a mystery girl.

He wishes that a lot lately. He wants to escape from this obsessive attachment because it hurts. He wants to think about other things.

He doesn't.

"_Why? You put words in mine all the time."_

"_That doesn't make it right for you to do it!"_

"_Cheap shot, that. Grading on a curve, are we?"_

"_I'm not!"_

"_If I didn't fancy you so much I'd hate you right now."_

"_I wish you would."_

"_Funny. I've learned over the years - from you, mostly - that you can't always get what you wish for."_

"_Why are you being so hostile?"_

"_Because I'm tired of doing this over and over again."_

She can't concentrate. He hasn't spoken to her in days, so the last words she's heard in his voice have stuck around.

It might be easier if what he said changes everything she's ever thought or felt about him. If suddenly, madly, she falls in love with him and wants everything to be different. If everything he's ever done wrong dissolves away and she's left only with the good parts of him.

But all she feels is… strange.

She's stuck between one emotion and another. She can't hate someone who loves her, but she can't love someone she's hated.

She's confused and irritated, and she wants to stop thinking about it. She wants to forget that she has the power to hurt someone she didn't think could be hurt. If she knew before, perhaps she wouldn't have said some of the things she did.

Going back and redoing is impossible.

She's still not entirely sure she was in the wrong to say some of the things she did. But she hadn't expected that look in his eyes.

Her head is about to explode.

"_You're tired? You're tired? Think about me, Potter!"_

"_I do. That's the problem."_

"_I…"_

"_No. Don't say anything. I'm not going to beg anymore. I'm not. Just… think about it, alright?"_

"_Don't walk away!"_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because you never walk away…"_

"_Consider it the first of many changes."_

He stands and leaves the Common Room. He can't prevent himself from watching her.

She looks miserable. He feels bad about it because it's probably his fault. He has a habit of upsetting her and he hates that about himself. He used to do it as a first and second year because he fancied her more than any boy of eleven or twelve should, and that was all he knew how to do.

Then he did it in third year because he thought her reactions were funny. She would get red in the face, as red as her hair and brighter, and she'd yell and yell and threaten him and he would run away from her laughing.

And in fourth and fifth year he wanted her to be impressed by him. He didn't set out to annoy her, it just happened that way. He wanted her to want him - he still does.

But this year?

All this year, all he did was try to make amends. He tried everything. He sent her flowers, he stopped fighting with Snape (quite so much), he stopped picking on younger years.

He's got nothing to show for it. All he's done is nothing.

He doesn't like seeing her upset. But when he's himself around her, that's all she is.

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><p>It's a bit shorter than what I usually write. My apologies. Then again, the kind of chapters I usually write in longer fics range between 3,000+ words and 25,000+ words, so… shaking it up. Next chapter tomorrow. Please review ^_^<p> 


	2. September 1st, 1977

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_September 1__st__, 1977_

She can't keep her eyes off him.

It's frustrating.

She watches him, as he sits there with his mates, as he laughs and eats and talks. He's carefree and happy. She isn't. She resents him, because he's the source of her distress.

She's noticing things about him that she never would have noticed before. She never realized his smile was so easy and charming. She watches his hands move with grace and deftness. Merlin, his glasses catch the light from the lanterns in the Great Hall and glint in the most annoying, adorable way.

There's no way she has feelings for him. She hasn't reached that point. (That point will never _be_ reached. Not ever.) But even when she's not looking at him she can _feel_ his presence and a compulsion to look over.

Her friends don't see. That's fine, because she barely remembers they're beside her. Her eyes are up the table a few seats and across as if cursed to stay fixed on him.

She becomes dizzy at the thought of working with him for the whole year, heads together in a corner, talking, talking…

She can't think of it like that.

"_Potter!"_

"_Hullo, Evans."_

"…_What are you doing here?"_

"_Head Boy. Got the badge and everything."_

"_That's… unexpected."_

"_Yeah, I suppose it is. Congrats on Head Girl, by the way."_

"_Thank you."_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"_How, er, how was your summer?"_

He puts on a good show to himself and his mates. He's not bothered by her. He doesn't think of her all that much anymore.

He can lie to himself a lot better than he used to.

The beginning of summer was torture, like it always was. He couldn't keep her off his mind, no matter how hard he tried. A pit grew and grew in his stomach as the days passed without her, though he hid it from everyone around him.

After all these years he's gotten good at hiding his feelings. Maybe he'll slip and tell Sirius about the reality, but most people believe he just fancies her a little.

It's so much more than that. And she knows. Merlin help him, she knows. That made summer even harder.

But it got easier, mostly because he did everything he could to _make_ it easier. He's proud to say that when he stepped on the train this morning, he hadn't thought about her at all.

Maybe once. Maybe twice.

Five times.

It's still better than his usual.

He's laughing and acting like it's the best day of his life, but there's nothing particularly good about it. He resents her for making him feel guilty. He doesn't even know why he feels guilty, but that dejected look in her eyes is stuck under his skin.

"_Summer is summer. Quidditch with the blokes, tea time with family. Went on a couple of dates."_

"_You did?"_

"_Is that a problem?"_

"_No… no. I just hadn't realized… I mean, I didn't think…"_

"_Spit it out, Evans, your stammers are giving me a headache."_

"_I just thought you would've, I dunno, stayed single or something. It was a stupid thing to… Merlin, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up."_

"_What are you on about?"_

"_End of last term. You remember, you told me that you… er, you -"_

She wishes he would look over at her. She wishes he wouldn't. She wishes that she could think about other things. If she keeps thinking about him, her head will explode.

Thoughts of him are exhausting.

She looks at him some more. He's really not that attractive. His hair sticks up at the back of his head. He's skinny, like he just grew a few inches too quickly, and it doesn't look healthy or handsome. His knees are knobby. His nose is too long and she can't think of anything else to complain about, although she used to have so much to say against him.

Why is she spending so much time on this?

Why does it matter one way or the other?

Why did she keep this image of him in her mind, one where he was eternally devoted to her and she could… what?

She could what?

This is pathetic. She knows it's pathetic. It's _him_. She's spent all this time on _him_ and it doesn't make an ounce of sense. Maybe if she found someone else to think about, someone else to admire and fantasize about.

She's fantasized about him once. Maybe twice. But it doesn't matter anyway.

"_Look, what I said was I'm not going after you anymore."_

"_Oh."_

"_What's wrong, Evans?"_

"_It's nothing."_

"_Come off it, you can't lie to me."_

"_I can't?"_

"_Not a chance."_

He noticed she cut her hair the second he saw her on the train.

He's always noticing things like that about her. She wore her hair down to her waist for years, and he liked that, but now it's shorter and at her shoulders and he likes that too.

Talking to her used to be so easy. He can't imagine how they're going to work together now, because everything feels so strange between them.

There's a hum in the air whenever they talk.

He doesn't know how else to describe it. The world just holds its breath when they speak, waiting to see what will happen. He waits with the world. She's always been so unpredictable to him, except he knows her habits and expressions better than his own.

He's going to make this year different. He's going to find someone else to "obsess over" like she said he should.

It's the right thing to do for both their sakes.

He knows this.

So why does it feel like the most terrible thing in the world?

"_Well… it's so stupid. It doesn't matter."_

"_If you're sure."_

"_Completely."_

"_Lily… I know I'm not your favorite person, but you can talk to me."_

"_I know that."_

"_Do you?"_

"_Of course."_

"_And you know what? I reckon we can pull this off."_

She wants to say all sorts of things to him. She wants to tell him how sorry she is, she wants to blame him for making her feel. She wants to scream and cry and hit him again and again because it makes her feel better to stop holding it inside.

She hears everything around her go silent and looks past him to the staff table.

She doesn't look past him, she just pretends to. He's still there, in the periphery of her vision, the profile of his face in clear view.

Every year before this she's listened to the Headmaster speak. This year she couldn't be bothered.

Maybe she could be bothered, maybe she should be. She wants to lift her eyes the barest of distances and keep her ears fixed on the old man at the staff table, but for the life of her she only sees the young man at the Gryffindor table.

She's so conflicted about everything.

It's making her sick.

She has to stand and head out of the Great Hall. She needs to find the lavatory.

"_Pull what off?"_

"_This Head thing. Between you and me, nothing will be forgotten."_

"_I don't know. You never really were a Prefect…"_

"_Quidditch Captain. I've got some management experience."_

"_You know, I hadn't even considered that."_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Right…"_

"_Er, …look, can we do this without making things awkward between us?"_

He watches her leave.

In all the years he remembers (and he remembers them all), she's never left during the Welcoming Feast until she was supposed to.

Despite everything going on inside him, the only thing he feels right now is concern. Is she alright? Does she need help? Is there something he can do for her? Round and round the questions go. It'll be hard to shake this instinct.

It'll be hard to shake _her_.

He turns his attentions back to the front of the room, but it's hard to concentrate.

He's wondering if someone should go after her, and for a second he thinks he should, but they're not like that at all.

He only just had his first civil conversation with her today; following her around isn't going to do either of them any favors. No, he'll just sit here and pretend he hears everything.

Nothing gets past his ears though.

"_Who said anything about awkward, Potter?"_

"_It might just be me, but all the same…."_

"_There's nothing awkward here at all!"_

"_If you say so."_

"…_I'm sorry, but you went on dates over the summer? No, never mind. Never mind that."_

"_Evans -"_

"_Let's get started on this meeting, alright?"_

"_Hey, Evans -"_

"_WHAT?"_

She holds herself over the toilet, but nothing comes out. Maybe it's not nausea, maybe she's still in turmoil over everything.

When she stands up, she puts a hand to her head and pulls it away wet. She's sweating.

Damn him.

She never sweats. Not to say that she won't perspire if she's running through corridors or lugging a cauldron around, but at silly times like these? It's all his fault and she knows it. He brings out the worst in her, always gets under her skin.

She steps out of the stall and stares at her reflection in the battered mirror. She looks crazed. Her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated, her skin is paler than normal.

What is going on with her?

She's never had this sort of nervous reaction before. Perhaps, if it felt even slightly similar to previous infatuations or relationships (she'll never be in a relationship with him. Not ever.) these symptoms could be explained as attraction.

She doesn't recognize these symptoms. She could be coming down with something. It's all _his_ fault.

Maybe she should visit the Hospital Wing.

"_Why are you so bothered about this?"_

"_About what?"_

"_About me going on a few dates."_

"_I'm not bothered, Potter."_

"_Because if you are -"_

"_I'm not. Now please, can we set up for this meeting?"_

"_Evans…"_

"_James, please."_

He doesn't see her in the Common Room that night when he gets back to Gryffindor Tower. He looks for her, like he always does, but she's not there.

He wonders if she went to bed early.

Briefly he considers asking her mates if she's upstairs, if they could check on her and see if she's alright. But no, he's kicking her like a bad habit. Asking after her is a thing of the past and he should know better.

All the same, when he goes to bed he's still worrying.

He tosses and turns under his covers, which feel too hot and tangle too quickly. He sighs and the bed creaks.

He gets a few pillows thrown at him and one missed hex for the noise.

Tomorrow he'll stop worrying, he decides. Tomorrow he'll stop thinking of her all the time.

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><p>Whoops, I forgot to do this earlier - thanks to <strong>RavenSoulSister <strong>, **uhhhwellll**,** Megan**,** Lenners**, and** DarkRaven72** for reviewing. You all get cookies and a peanut butter hot chocolate! Unless you don't like those, in which case I present Sour Patch Kids TM for your tasting pleasure.

By the way, this chapter is dedicated to anyone and everyone who has ever experienced unrequited love. Next post is tomorrow. Please review ^_^


	3. September 29th, 1977

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_September 29__th__, 1977_

She senses the proximity of his body beside her and it makes her light-headed. Merlin, he's so warm.

She needs to snap out of this.

She's not some pathetic, randy teenage girl desperate for a shag. (Except she is, a little.) Self-control is not outside her reach. She is not going to keep sitting here and wondering what his hands - his lovely, lovely hands - would feel like on her skin.

Honestly.

This has never happened to her before, not with _him_.

Except… it's been happening a lot, lately. She notices him more and more at the worst of times. She's losing her mind to him.

She already lost control of her body at the Welcoming Feast. At least one thing needs to stay in her grasp.

"_You're late."_

"_Am not."_

"_No, you are. See, Potter, the clock?"_

"_Oh, would you look at that! Well, I figured you'd rather I was a little late and smelling fresh than on time and stinking of Quidditch."_

"_When you put it that way…"_

"_See? We all benefit here."_

"_Sit down, Potter."_

"_You're rather grouchy tonight."_

He's so unsure of what to do around her. She's become so emotionally unsound. Every day he's walking on eggshells because he's afraid of what she'll do.

Last week she all but refused to speak to him, and when they _did_ talk she was loud and angry and gave him no reasons for her temper. The week before that, she laughed at everything he said that was remotely funny and played with her hair. And the first week of school? That first week, she ran away from him at every chance.

He pauses for a second and glances beside him. Green eyes fixed on the parchment before her. Right hand scribbling fastidiously.

It's as if she doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

And their conversation when he arrived was so confusing. Why does she care so much about what he does in his spare time?

He would have imagined, were this a year ago, that she was secretly in love with him. He would have agonized over every expression, every enigmatic word, trying to find the hidden meaning behind everything.

But he knows better. She'll never love him the way he loves her.

He's kicking the habit of pretending she ever could.

"_I don't know what you're talking about."_

"_How gullible do you take me for?"_

"_I'm perfectly fine. I'd just like to work out next month's rounds."_

"_Evans, I told you before, you can't lie to me."_

"_And you're reading something that isn't there. Really, I'm quite chipper. See? Smiles and everything."_

"_If you're sure…"_

"_I am."_

"_Alright then. Pass that parchment, will you?"_

"_Mm-hmm."_

She remembers the mortification when Madam Pomfrey told her what she was feeling, the blood that pooled in her cheeks and burned so hot she'd covered them with her palms. It was so obvious in hindsight.

Lust.

She was in lust. Out of all people, she was in lust with _him_.

She can feel all the symptoms again, everything inside her aching so uncomfortably and embarrassingly. She won't look at him because what if he guessed?

These new feelings, she's been trying to control them, trying to deal with them, trying to understand why. She's developed tactics and traded them in and out for one another according to whatever best fits the moment, according to whatever will keep her from touching him in ways she shouldn't touch him.

And he hasn't been making it any easier.

No, she can't believe how difficult he's made things. He's stopped looking so unhealthy and skinny, more and more each day, and his arms are getting a little definition.

She won't go so far to say he has impressive muscles. Because he doesn't. But his arms are the sort she wants wrapped around her.

She scratches her quill forcefully against the parchment.

"_So, I hear you're taking Jennifer Lindsay to Hogsmeade next month."_

"_Word travels fast. I only asked her at lunch."_

"_She's very pretty."_

"_Yeah, I suppose she is."_

"_You'll have lots of fun."_

"_That's the plan."_

He thinks about Jennifer Lindsay, and he thinks about _her_, and he inevitably compares the two.

The former is brunette. She's leggy and tall and her skin is unblemished. She likes Quidditch. When he pulls a trick she laughs. She's smart and funny, and at first glance anyone would say that he and Jennifer were well matched. He'd convinced himself of that, a little.

He didn't convince himself at all. Jennifer was well matched with him, but she was no match for _her_. The girl next to him. The one that came up to his collarbone, the one disinterested in sports and scolds him for playing games. The one who isn't just smart, but brilliant, and the one everyone says he should let go.

Which girl is better for him?

It's no contest.

He just happens to deliberately lose the contest.

He's already regretting asking Jennifer on a date. It's stupid that he's thinking about _her_ feelings, but something in her voice said she's hurt by it. He might be wrong.

"_Her last name is a first name! How bloody ridiculous is that? She has no real last name!_"

"_Lily?"_

"_No, bollocks, forget I said any of that."_

"_That's asking a bit much, don't you think?"_

"_It's always bothered me about her. Ask Mary about it; I've had problems with her name for years."_

"_Evans, what the hell is going on with you?"_

She wants to possess him. She wants to wrap him up in a cocoon devoted to her and her alone, and she wants to mark him as taken.

She's jealous.

For so long she was the center of his attention and she liked it. She can admit that to herself now, at least partway. Now she has competition and it kills her.

She likes knowing that he loves her. Or at least, that he _did_ love her, not so long ago. It's intoxicating, knowing that she has such power over him. If she wants, she can make him do anything she asks, anything at all. There is temptation to test it, to see how far he'll go for her.

But she's scared to test it because if she goes too far, she'll lose him.

She doesn't want to lose him.

She feels dirty and awful for having this need to assert control over him, that darker side of her leaking out.

Maybe she's a bad person.

"_Why do you assume something is wrong with me?"_

"_Well, for one it's not like you to insult someone without provocation."_

"_I've insulted you for years."_

"_With plenty of provocation for your efforts."_

"_James, you don't know me as well as you think you do."_

"_Clearly. I don't understand you at all these days."_

He wonders why she's so stiff. It makes him more aware of her.

It makes him nervous to move. Even one wrong wriggle could upset the delicate balance she's put into place.

He can't take this anymore.

He sighs loudly and slumps back in his chair. He stretches his arms over his head. He splays his legs out lazily, not caring that Madam Pince might come over at any second and tell him to sit up like a proper gentleman whilst in her library.

And he notices that his right leg - the one closest to _her_ - is brushing up against her thigh.

There is no retort, no exclamation of indignity, no demand that he stop touching her. She is silent and unmoving, though her quill continues to scratch in the tense stillness.

He doesn't pull away.

It becomes a game to him, a dangerous dare, to see how long he can touch her without her reacting. He watches her face, but her hair hangs down and reveals little.

He wonders if she even notices.

"_Why do you even try?"_

"_An excellent question."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Never you mind, Evans. You wouldn't understand even if I explained it to you."_

"_Try me."_

"_Highly inadvisable."_

She feels fire from the place where his leg meets hers.

Her chest is burning with air that takes too long to come in and blood pumping in her heart, rushing to where they touch. She knows her cheeks match her hair. She feels a warm tug in her lower belly (what she'd thought was nausea). Her inner thighs are clenched together with anticipation.

This is ridiculous.

She can't tell him to stop because her voice will be breathy and weak. She can't push him away because touching him… would lead to more touching.

She can't pull her own leg away because there's a part of her, a traitorous part of her, that doesn't want to.

So she lets him stay there, she _allows_ him to touch her like that, because a small factor is that sadistic need for control and that power play she wishes didn't exist. She knows what's going on inside her, she knows what his motivations are, but it's all so confusing at the same time.

No, she understands the _what_. The question is how. The question is why.

Why him? Why here? Why now? How did it happen?

"_I think you doubt my intelligence."_

"_Hardly. You're the smartest girl I've ever met."_

"…_Really?"_

"_Don't sound so shocked, Lily, you've always beat me for best marks."_

"_I just didn't know you thought so highly of me."_

"_I didn't realize I'd left any doubt."_

"…_Oh."_

He waits and waits, but she doesn't do a thing.

He grows bolder, he walks that dangerously fine line between casual and deliberate.

Slowly, subtly, he moves his leg back and forth against hers. He waits and watches, and for a moment he thinks she's about to speak and tell him to stop. He can see her mouth open a little and guesses she's about to tell him off, but her mouth just stays open.

He gets reckless. He presses his whole leg along the length of hers, nudges her foot with his shoe. His knee slides under hers, parting her legs a little.

That mouth just stays open. She's not writing anymore; the quill is down.

He goes too far when his fingers dance along the top of her thigh. He hears her gasp and then she stands up so quickly he almost falls over from the separation, and then she's gone, all her things are gone, faster than he can comprehend.

Now he's left sitting there, completely at a loss.

* * *

><p>Ah, yes. Being a teenager. Who else remembers (is experiencing) blossoming hormones? That first lusty encounter? <em>Doesn't it just suck to holy hell and back and then some?<em>

Thanks to **FalseImagination**, **Half**-**bloodtribute**, **Charlotte Donahue**, and especially **Megan** for going on a review splurge. Tasty treats for all! Next post is tomorrow. Oh, and as always, please review ^_^


	4. November 2nd, 1977

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

This one's a slightly different style, mostly because I tried all sorts of ways to get the emotional tone into the regular thoughts/interspersed dialogue format but nothing really resonated the way it was supposed to. The "after reflections" are separated from the main bulk by breaks, and everything else is all happening at the same time. Well… it shouldn't be that hard to catch on, I believe. If it is I'll try to do something to fix it up.

* * *

><p><strong>He<strong> **and** **She**

_November 2__nd__, 1977_

She can't breathe. She's overcome by a mix of embarrassment and excitement, shame and lust, hope and confusion.

She's tangled herself in her duvet, her legs wrapped firmly around and her arms holding it like some miracle pillow. She's preventing her body from moving and doing something she doesn't want it to do. Merlin knows she let herself get away with too much.

Everything tingles where they touched, and they did a lot of touching. His hands did a lot of touching.

Her lips did a lot of touching.

Her lips are tingling most of all.

She remembers everything in vivid, dreamlike detail. There is no caress forgotten and no heavy-lidded gaze locked away in her memory. She feels her heart pounding in a mass of tangled heat, all flooding and sensation inside and in such a way that she can't control anything inside her.

She knows, with undeniable clarity, with unquestionable truth, that things will never be the same between them again.

**-  
>O<br>-**

"_What are you doing up?"_

"_Hullo, Evans."_

"_Well, what are you, then? It's nearly two o'clock in the morning."_

"_What are _you_ doing up?"_

"…_Fair point."_

"_In answer to your question, I couldn't sleep."_

"_So you thought you'd stare at the fire all night? Sounds like a grand plan, Potter."_

"_Oh, hush. It's strangely relaxing."_

"_Hmm. Mind if I join you?"_

He watches her sit down beside him, the fire flickering and casting golden light and shadows in turn upon her pale skin. He is captivated.

He hasn't stopped thinking about her like he'd planned. He can't stop. She's always such a bright presence, such an intense being, and he's finally accepted resistance is futile. So he is content to simply observe her with the knowledge that she will never be his. He has conceded the struggle in gaining her notice.

There is silence between them.

He wonders why she is awake.

He knows why he is; he is waiting for his mates to fall asleep. They've been up drinking and acting like seventeen-year-old boys (but he wouldn't tell _her_ that). He wishes he could join them but he has a meeting with McGonagall in the morning. If all goes well his Head of House will sponsor him for the Auror programme.

It's a dream of his to become and Auror.

Falling asleep during that meeting is not part of his dream.

"_You're right."_

"_What's that?"_

"_I said you're right, James."_

"_About what."_

"_Staring at the fire. You're right, it is strangely relaxing."_

"_Why do you doubt me, Evans? Have I been wrong about these things yet?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Shut it, ginger."_

She wants to say all sorts of things to him. She wants to ask him why he backed out of his date with Jennifer Lindsay, she wants to talk about that incident in the library, the one they haven't spoken of for over a month - not since it happened. She wants to ask him why they haven't spoken of it.

But she doesn't have the courage. For a Gryffindor she's severely lacking.

She watches as he smiles at her, that devilish smile she used to think was arrogant. Perhaps it was arrogant back then, but now it's charming and suave and can melt her entire body in ways she never knew she could be melted.

That smile is everything right in her life.

That smile can obliterate all the horror of the world.

She blushes when he looks over at her. His eyes, when she can see them behind the gleam of fire on his glasses, are still that soft grayish hazel.

She wants to drown in his eyes, even with that look of confusion on his face. He can't understand the change in her feelings, he can't understand why she's looking at him with such longing and desire. She knows he can't even understand those emotions on her face because they're so alien to him.

All the same, she wishes he could read her face and see for himself.

"_What's on your mind?"_

"_Hmm... Sorry, what's that, Potter?"_

"_You keep staring at me."_

"_I, er… I've had a lot on my mind lately."_

"_That's not unusual, Lily. If you didn't have lots of on your mind I would worry."_

"_The thing is… well, the thing is -"_

He's not sure what is happening.

He's aware that he's pressed up against the arm of the couch, his back squished uncomfortably between the space of the arm and the seat. He's also aware his glasses are crooked and pinching his nose.

But quite honestly, he doesn't care.

He doesn't care because her hands are on his chest, and her legs are straddling his lap, and her lips are kissing his lips.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. He is surprised, yes, and overwhelmed, and there is no room inside him for emotions like joy or jubilation. Instinct guides him to lay lift his hands and grasp her thighs, and he groans when he feels bare skin under his fingers. The nightgown she wears has ridden dangerously - wondrously - high on her legs. His fingers dig in to her thighs in earnest.

With every passing second, reality sinks in further. _She_ is kissing _him_, _she_ is laying atop _him_, choosing _him_.

He struggles to breathe as she trails kisses from his lips down his check to his neck, biting his skin lightly. Her red hair tickles his ear and he tries not to laugh because if he does, this moment might be over before he's even had to time to properly revel in it.

"_Lily…"_

"_Shhh… Don't say anything."_

"_What -"_

"_No talking. You'll ruin it."_

"_Lily, what are we -"_

She silences him with a kiss. She bites his lip, pulls on it with her teeth, sucks on it lightly. She's rendered him unable to speak and that power over him is intoxicating. She's never felt more beautiful or more in control in her life.

What she's doing, why she's doing it, it's all a dream to her. Nothing feels quite real, but it all feels so _good._ She doesn't want to stop even though logic is telling her to.

She runs her hands down his chest, pressing her fingers into his skin - he feels so _amazing_. She plays with the hem of his shirt and slowly, slowly inches the fabric up his torso. His chest is growing soft hairs, marking his progression into adulthood. She touches his chest. She kisses it.

The groan he makes when she does this is causes her to smile. He feels warm under her and he tastes like spice and sweat and skin.

Her fingers grasp his waist as she touches every inch of his chest with her lips, mapping his dips and curves as if she'll never do so again. When she slides her body back to go lower he runs a hand up her back and through her hair, tangling his fingers in the waves.

She can see, even in the flickering firelight, that he's spent time in the sun without a shirt although the color's fading.

She feels heat under her skin when he leans up to kiss the base of her neck.

"_James…"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Oh, Merlin… James…"_

He's never heard his name spoken so reverently by anyone.

He continues to suck on her skin, eliciting gasps and throaty sighs of arousal. She arches her back and looks at the ceiling, and he begins to do to her what she's being doing to him. The feel of her body rising and falling with her jagged breaths is beautiful and sensual.

His hands roam everywhere and she moans. He's twining his fingers in her hair once more, something he's always longed to do, and her eyes are closed in bliss.

There's a moment when she slides down his body again, her fingers brushing through his chest hair, when their hips meet and her eyes snap open.

The full knowledge of what she's done to his body comes into clarity and he sees her own realization in that same moment. She sits up, but it only makes the situation harder - in every sense. Their eyes meet and he silently begs her not to move. She doesn't, but her expression is suddenly shy and unsure.

He sits up with her and holds her face in his hands. He kisses her, and she sighs in his mouth.

In a heartbeat, their bodies drive against each other as closely as possible in an effort to feel _more_, touch _more_ of the other's bodies. She rocks back and forth against his pelvis and he grabs her hips in enthusiastic response.

One of his hands, as though of its own accord, crawls up and underneath her nightie to play with the hem of her knickers.

"_James… stop. We need to stop."_

"_Hmm?"_

"_This is getting… too much."_

"_Sorry! I'm sorry, Lily, here - I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear it -"_

"_James, it's alright. I was the one who, er, started this."_

"_You're all flushed; do you need something to drink? I can summon some water."_

"_I'm fine. I'm just… that was different."_

She spends a few seconds catching her breath. Her body is covered in a light sheet of sweat and all of her skin is burning.

The world is spinning a little as she stares at the ceiling. She feels his fingers brush hers. His touch is not the bold exploration of minutes before; it is hesitant and shy and ever so scared. She wants nothing more than to alleviate his worry so she reaches over and takes his hand in hers.

This sort of touching is so much simpler than what they were doing before, but it elicits all the same feelings inside her. Almost all, that is. Some of the heat is fading.

As it fades she realizes exactly what happened. And she realizes she doesn't regret a thing. She's completely content in that moment.

She looks down at her lap and sees how far her nightie has ridden up. She pulls the fabric down with an afterthought of self-consciousness, because he's touched everything that is still exposed. There's a strange comfort in knowing the sight has already been explored.

She can feels his eyes on her face, and she doesn't know how to react.

Her worry is less about what has happened but where to go from here. She can feel herself trembling all over, not enough to see but enough to feel, and knows it is her anxiety about the future of their… relationship? Is there a relationship to be had? She gets the distinct impression that the choice rests with her.

"_I think I should go to bed now."_

"_Oh, alright. Er, if you want to… I mean, whatever you want to do -"_

"…_mm. Hush."_

"_You just kissed me."_

"_Yes, James. If you recall, I've done that several times now."_

"_You just kissed me!"_

"_Goodnight, James."_

"_Hey, wait a minute - why did you even come down here? I mean, I told you why I did but you never said."_

"_I don't really know. I suppose I was feeling restless."_

**-  
>O<br>-**

He won't tell his mates why he's grinning so fiercely. They ask, tipsy and laughing, why he's as giddy as they, why his face is red and blotchy. They ask why his lips are all pouty and they tease him, tease that he was kissing himself in the mirror.

He'll not say a word, because the memory of what happened in the Common Room is so precious, so amazing, that speaking of it could taint what has passed. If someone told him that _she_ would initiate that, that _she_ would be the one to kiss _him_, he would have laughed before tonight.

He laughs now, but not out of disbelief. For the first time he allows himself hope.

For the first time, there is something tangible he can recount to indicate hope. He laughs out of surprise and joy and triumph because it has finally happened. Except - has it? She said she was restless, she said she only wandered down to the Common Room because she was restless.

Does that include what happened between them, too? Restlessness?

He doesn't want to think of it like that.

His mates are laughing at him again, their drink-soaked memory unable contain all their teasing and thus repeating many of their jokes. He doesn't mind; he barely hears the taunts. He's replaying the moment she breathed his name like a caress.

When he sees her tomorrow, he'll have to remember to give her space. He'll have to remember to act calm and collected.

For the life of him, he can't imagine how.

* * *

><p>I swear this is not going to turn into a smut fic. I swear it.<p>

Thanks to **zizzy**, **Kuri333**, **RavenSoulSister**, **NikiJane**, **flash photography** (aka Jenn), **apla**-**xamogelase**, and **Charlotte Donahue** for reviewing! Hugs and kisses - or if you're not into the whole touching thing, a flower. Next post is in two days, please review, you know how it goes ^_^


	5. December 16th, 1977

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_December 16__th__, 1977_

She glances down the table at him. He's sitting and laughing with his mates, just like he always does.

She wasn't expecting anything different.

But then he turns and smiles at her, and her heart flops in the stupidest way. He's caught on to the effect that stupid smile has on her, and damn him for it. But he hasn't stopped smiling all day so perhaps he isn't trying to make every part of her melt.

She shakes her head with a smile of her own when he gestures for her to join him.

After all, she has to keep away from him every now and then to avoid withdrawals when she's forced apart for something silly like lessons or sleep or the lavatory. A part of her realizes she's far too dependant on his presence to be healthy.

The rest of her doesn't care.

She hasn't been this wrapped up in something other than schoolwork since as long as she can remember, and the feeling is fantastic.

When he gestures for her again, she playfully crooks a finger back.

"_That's such a lovely dress!"_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"_I've always thought I look best in beige. The hair makes color coordinating difficult."_

"_Yeah… if you say so."_

"_I'd like to buy that, but it's so pretty, it's definitely expensive."_

"_I suppose."_

"_James, you're being no fun at all. You're supposed to say 'it'd look prettier with you in it' or something like that."_

"_My apologies. If I'd realized I was required to say something that charming I might have spoken by now."_

"_Why are you being so glum?"_

He's never been this happy in his life. He's all sorts of things, all sorts of adjectives and feeling all sorts of nouns.

Never in a million years had he thought things could be so simple. It's always war and tears and shouts with them, all exploding passions and anger. Nothing between them has ever been so easy and effortless. Once or twice he's pinched himself to make sure this isn't a dream of his.

He knows it's not, because his skin is bruising on his left forearm.

He laughs absently at something Sirius says, but the truth is he's on the verge of laughter already and needs no help.

When she gestures for him to join her down the table, he has to think about it for only a few seconds before standing. He gives his mates some lame excuse before heading over to sit beside her. They see where he's heading and laugh at him, saying he's being an idiot.

He's not, though, because her playful smile widens as he approaches.

There's nothing quite like watching her brighten at his approach, because for so long it was a grimace that welcomed him.

As if in a background noise, he hears Sirius yelling for him to give it up, that he's just getting desperate.

He hasn't told them before, because he didn't want to say anything and make whatever this is go away. Now he understands that words are nothing, they can do nothing, no harm can come from them. It's all too simple for something like words to get in the way.

"_I'm not being glum."_

"_I don't know how you've managed to stay out of as much trouble as you have; you aren't convincing in the slightest."_

"_Winning smiles and charming platitudes, obviously."_

"_But you _are_ being glum."_

"_Am not."_

"_You can lie to me about as well as I can lie to you, James. Just admit defeat."_

"_I'm a bit confused is all."_

"_Confused?"_

She snorts as he slings an arm over her when he sits down. She throws his arm off her shoulders with a laugh at him undeterred face. He's never been one for giving up, she knows this and more and more she appreciates it.

So when he leans over for a kiss she lets him.

She touches his cheek because she wants to. She wants to experience those little touches.

What she doesn't tell him is how uncomfortable she is, snogging in the Great Hall where everyone can see and whisper and spread gossip. She's never liked that part of school and she never will - she's looking forward to the end of the constant rumors when they leave in the spring.

But because he needs this to know it's real, she lets him.

She doesn't let him for long, of course. Eventually she has to pull away and grin at him, stroking his cheek gently with her thumb. He's got a grin that says everything she's ever felt about their kisses. It's a grin that spreads like a contagion and she has to return it.

And she takes a bit of mashed potatoes and smashes it in his face.

She laughs as he splutters adorably.

She likes playing with him in this innocent, harmless, beautiful way.

"_Yes, Lily. The word 'confused' is fairly accurate."_

"_What's there to be confused about?"_

"_What is there… you're joking. You've got to be joking."_

"_Now I'm confused."_

"_Oh, let's see. Well, we've been snogging in various parts of the castle the last month, and I won't complain about that, but when we're around people you act as if nothing's going on between us which is a little odd because _you_ initiated this… thing!"_

"_I didn't realize we were a public displays sort of couple."_

"_Yeah, well, I don't ask for much but - hang on; did you just say we're a couple?"_

"_Aren't we?"_

"_Are we?"_

He grabs a napkin and cleans his face, trying to glare at her triumphant laughter. She makes it so difficult to be cross with her sometimes.

He finishes wiping away the potatoes and reaches for her face with the napkin threateningly. He smirks as she begins protesting loudly, and teases her, inching the napkin closer to her face even as she pulls away.

At last he puts the napkin down and reaches over to take her hand.

He won't be able to eat while his right hand is attached to her, but he's strangely alright with that. He doesn't need to eat - he's already been to the kitchens an hour ago.

His mates' faces are stunned when he turns around to face them. He winks at them, and Sirius blinks in complete confusion. There's a satisfaction in proving everyone, even his three best friends, completely and staggeringly wrong.

Because he won, he has her, and all that time they spent telling him to give it up was wasted breath just as he told them.

Because she was wrong, too, and a part of him is smug about it.

Shock and whispers spark around them and ignite the Great Hall with rumors. He grins and barely listens to them. They can all see for their own eyes, it's not a secret anymore, and (as he looks out at the whole wide room) he hopes this misses no one.

He's vindictive, though he'd rather she doesn't know it.

"_What else could we be?"_

"_I think I've missed a few steps, Lily. Couple?"_

"_Yeah, you know, people who go on dates, snog regularly, hold hands -"_

"_Dates?"_

"_Isn't this a date?"_

"_Is it?"_

"_I thought it was. I did ask you, after all."_

"_I don't know - I mean, you didn't say…"_

"_James, what else did you think 'let's meet up in Hogsmeade' meant?"_

She tries to hide her anxiety at being the center of attention. It's what he needs, she tells herself.

Otherwise, he doesn't seem to think it's real. She can see the bruises on his arm from where he pinched himself to check. She can understand where he might get confused since he's the sort who needs people to look at him, to make things large and public to have them validated.

Sometimes she adores this about him and sometimes she wants to smash his head into a wall.

She knows that he's not perfect.

She's always known this.

But she's not with him because he's devoid of flaws or blemishes on his character. She's with him… well, it's a strange thing. She's with him because he makes her laugh, and he's a fantastic snog. She's with him because she doesn't want to be without him and because she likes holding sway over him.

She's with him because he loves her, and she could very easily grow to love him in return. It's already started to grow inside her.

Her eyes sweep over the Slytherin table, and her heart lurches uncomfortably in her chest when a pair of black, bewildered, seething eyes bore into her own. There's no need to feel guilty (those ties were severed long ago) but she can't help it.

And for some reason she can't look away as her eyes try to explain everything that can't be explained.

"_I… I thought you wanted to meet up for a snog."_

"_You think I'm that easy, do you?"_

"_Well, excuse me if you tell me to meet up with you for a snog in the kitchens, or the sixth floor broom cupboard -"_

"_Alright, that's enough -"_

"_- Or the Astronomy tower, or Greenhouse One, or -"_

"_Yes, yes! I see your point!"_

"_So I thought, why would Hogsmeade be any different?"_

"_And now you're all glum since there's no snogging to be had."_

"_I never said I was glum, I said I was confused."_

"_But you wear them so similar…"_

He knows Snape is watching them. He's self-satisfied at his success, that he got her and the other boy didn't.

There's a thought in the back of his head that she wouldn't like that.

He ignores that thought. He's practiced ignoring her outrage and discontent when it comes to the Slytherin boy because, quite honestly, he hates the way Snape looks at her and he hates the way Snape tries to possess her completely and he hates that Snape has pieces of her that he'll never see.

He leans over and kisses the top of her head, his eyes never leaving the Slytherin table.

If she asks, he'll never admit he was marking his territory.

He watches as Snape gets up and storms out of the Great Hall. He doesn't know why; she gave up that friendship a long time ago. Snape has no right to act angry at her or as if he has some claim to her. Even he's got no claim to her, though he likes to pretend.

Sometimes it's nice to pretend he's doing anything more than hanging on for the ride, but he has to admit the ride is fun.

He's surprised (as always) and pleased when she snuggles into his side.

"_Let me get my head on straight… Lily, we're a couple."_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"_We - you and me - are a couple."_

"_Yes, yes we are."_

"_We're a bloody couple!"_

"_Darling, Merlin knows I adore you, but listening to you repeat yourself is getting a little wearisome."_

"_Right, sorry. I'm just a bit in shock here."_

"_You've had over a month to get used to the idea."_

She pushes away the guilt because it has no place with the pair of them. Right now it's just him and it's her and that's enough.

What else would she need?

What else _could_ she need?

After all, she's got someone who would go to hell and back for her, who would do anything for her, and Snape could never do that. He made that clear along time ago and she was certainly not going to dwell on someone who couldn't do for her what _he_ could.

She wasn't comparing them. It was just fact.

She receives a few angry glares from some sixth year girls, glares that say she took something that she shouldn't have. She smirks at them because he'd never look at any of them the way he looks at her, and they know it.

Her smirk turns into giggles as he reaches around her waist and tickles her side. She trashes against him, laughing madly because he's always surprising her like that.

That's another reason she's with him; he makes something ordinary and routine like dinner in the Great Hall something fun and unexpected. He's playful as a small, mischievous child and isn't bothered to grow up just because he's of age.

She needs childishness in her life, though she didn't know it until he showed her.

"_Who would have thought _you_, Lily Evans, would ever be on a date with me? Who ever saw that coming?"_

"_I did. When I asked you."_

"_You sure know how to play an unsuspecting bloke."_

"_It's an art."_

"_You're probably the sneakiest girlfriend in the history of dating."_

"_With that being said, how about sneaking off into that alley and getting a quick snog in?"_

"_I bloody love you."_

He tickles her side despite her protestations for him to stop, and she smacks him once or twice with a grin that won't become a scowl despite her best efforts.

He'll admit she's not the girlfriend he thought she would be. He thought she would be sweet and stately and lovely.

Instead, she's funny and loud and a little rude. She makes dirty jokes when he least expects it and she likes snogging almost more than he does. She scolds him when his shirt isn't tucked in and she'll steal his glasses if he's being too arrogant for her tastes.

So far he's been the only one to see this, but now he felt as if he could do this in front of people. It doesn't feel like a secret he's keeping from his mates.

It never really was a secret, now that he thinks about it.

He can't wait to see how she reacts to Sirius flirting with Remus (much to Remus' dismay and horror), or if she'll be surprised when Peter says something extremely dry and funny like most people are surprised. He's anticipating her expression when she sees the disastrous state of their dorm with a mix of glee and dread.

He's just as excited to spend time with her mates, to find out what made her so keen on those girls out of all the others in the school.

Though his friends will protests, he wants to give her the Marauder's Map and his Invisibility Cloak and see what she makes of it, if she scolds him furiously or laughs at his daring and magical skill. He wants her to be proud - though it's not his to show - of him becoming an Animagus and why he did.

It's how he knows he loves her, because he's never shared much in his life but he wants to share everything with her.

* * *

><p>Yeah, so neither of them is perfect. I'm alright with that - if I wrote about perfect people I wouldn't have a conflict. And there is a conflict to be had. (Insert evil laugh here, and some moustache twirling. I wish I had a moustache.)<p>

Thanks to **Kuri333**, **NikiJane**, **Megan**, **uhhhwellll**, **RavenSoulSister**, **black16lily**, **Charlotte Donahue**, **Elizabeth Bells**, and **twitchy**-**raven** for reviewing. Next post is tomorrow. You lot get the list of the songs that accompany each chapter up to chapter 7 if you review ^_^


	6. February 10th, 1978

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_February 10, 1978_

She lays on her back, one hand on her stomach and tracing lazy circles upon the exposed skin.

Not too long ago, his hand was making similar patterns, and the feeling wasn't as comforting as it is when she does it. With his hand, her insides fight each other, all trying to reach through her body and touch him for themselves. Every part of her wants to wrap around him and never let go.

She has to take time for herself, though, or she'll go insane.

And if she doesn't take time for herself, she'll inevitably go through with something she's not truly ready for.

There's no pressure from him - at least, she knows he doesn't mean to. It's never his intention. He's always afraid she might take off and never come back.

She knows it's a silly fear for him to have. All of her is magnetized to him and she can't stay away for too long without feeling desperate and lonely. It scares her how deep she's fallen in but she doesn't know another way to be because everything is a little bit grayer and duller than it used to be.

She stares up at the curtains surrounding her bed, wondering how long she'll last this time.

It's a game she plays with herself, to see if she can stay away. If she's being honest, it's a game she plays with him too and he doesn't like it.

"_Are you going to buy me something pretty in Hogsmeade?"_

"_Why, James, I didn't think you much cared for Valentine's Day."_

"_Really? Whatever gave you that impression?"_

"_Oh, the last three years. You know, the way you all but vanish from the castle to avoid the girls asking you for a kiss or a date, and all the chocolates full of Amortentia, and the horrible love poems, and the flowers that make you sneeze -"_

"…_I'd get angry at you for making me kiss you, but I like it too much."_

"_Possibly your best way of interrupting me. But you did steal that idea from me, you know."_

"_This is true."_

He watches the clouds move past the window in his dorm. The sky is gray and dull and there's no blue to be seen.

There's something to be said about a darkened sky, he acknowledges. It's a very interesting contrast to the rest of his life. His world is constructed of bright things, things made out of red hair and green eyes and splashes of freckles.

Outside, everything is made of gray and brown and white and there's no color on the trees. The snow has covered it all up and hidden it away.

He's alone. His mates are downstairs, putting on a show for anyone who will watch in the Common Room.

He feels like he should be down there, but today there's nothing very interesting outside of his head. He keeps replaying her words over and over, and he's trying to piece things together that have been spelled out for him very plainly.

Until he fully understands it he's stuck with scattered thoughts.

He watches the clouds because it's much easier to mindlessly look at something than strain to comprehend.

He watches them because they are moving and he is sitting still. Or (his stomach is flying and his fingers are clenched, just like when he's on a broom and racing to see who can go the fastest and the farthest) is it the other way around?

"_So out with it, Potter. Why do you loathe the holiday of romance?"_

"_Lily, I've never hated Valentine's Day."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yes, really."_

"_You're a terrible liar; I believe I've told you that before."_

"_Only a dozen times or so."_

"_Good to know I'm not repetitive."_

She continues to play her hand against her stomach, trying to soothe herself.

Her body is full of squirming things and she wants it to quiet down and go to sleep. Downstairs there are strains of laughter and mayhem. As Head Girl, she should be the one to break it up and return the Common Room to relative peace.

Honestly, she couldn't be bothered.

She's too immersed inside herself, inside _him_ and thoughts of him. Every time she thinks of him, she feels her lower belly melt and slide around and she doesn't want that. She hates not having control - she's acknowledged this by now - and she hates him for controlling her reactions.

No, she doesn't.

She wants to, though, and she'll admit that to his face. She's admitted it before.

She admitted it today, when he was snogging her hand his hands were sliding under her blouse to feel her stomach and then… higher. She said how much she wished she could hate him and he laughed as if he'd been cut and couldn't quite believe it.

After what she'd said to him earlier, expressing a desire to despise him was completely the wrong thing to say.

"_Look, I've no reason to hate Valentine's Day. I hate Amortentia perhaps, and love poems, but on the whole it's a rather fun day for me."_

"_Right, I'll have to chuck that one poem I've been scratching out."_

"_Oh, ha-ha."_

"_Don't laugh at my poetry. I happen to be a brilliant wordsmith, for your information."_

"_I'm sure. Besides, this year I'm spoken for. There will be a whole lot less birds knocking down my door this year."_

"_Oh, I don't know about that."_

"_Oh? Do tell."_

"_If you must know, Laurel Mackenzie's been chatting up the Ravenclaws about how she's going to make you fall madly in love with her."_

He feels good.

That's what he doesn't understand. All his feelings are good and light and he doesn't have a weight inside him. He can go out with his mates and leave her behind, and he can play Quidditch without thinking of her, and when he thinks of her he can forget those things if he wants to.

He doesn't understand why she can't do the same.

Why does she make everything so hard for herself? Is that what she always does?

Not for the first time, he realizes how much he still doesn't know about her. He thought he had everything memorized, every habit sketched, but she continues to surprise him. The surprises have started to have a bitter aftertaste.

He's loved her for so long he's learned to separate his world from hers so that he's not all tangled up in her, but he can't stop worrying.

He's never been happier, he's never felt better, but a thin trail of dread snakes through their light-hearted banter.

Distance is left in the wake.

"_What, is she going to woo me or something?"_

"_Dunno. She's also said some unpleasant things about my character."_

"_That bitch."_

"_Oh, she really is."_

"_I wish I wasn't Head Boy. I should put a dead rat in her bed or something."_

"_Charming, James."_

"_You know I'd never do that, right?"_

She rolls over on her side and stares out at the room. Mary is reading a book on her bed, completely unaware she is being watched. It must be so nice to be Mary, always stuck in a book and simply reading about romance with a wistful sigh.

She wishes she'd known how poisonous love is before going into this thing with him.

How stupidly enthusiastic she was. It was going to be all laughs and snogs and hand-holding.

Now she knows better.

She knows that love means you can't breathe properly, that your mind isn't your own and neither is your body. She knows that she can't concentrate properly and something deep inside her will never be satiated no matter how badly she wishes for it.

When she thinks about her life after school he's always in the picture. She used to imagine getting a flat of her own, and now she wants to be with him every waking second. Of course, she loves him and she likes him and he's not a bad bloke to be with every waking second, but she's worried of drowning.

She wonders why this is so painful for her to experience and not him. Why is he able to joke so easily while she has to pretend?

Is she doing this wrong?

"_Never do what, darling? Put a rat in someone's bed?"_

"_Leave you for someone else."_

"_James… I've figured out by now that you couldn't possibly fall in love with anyone but a ginger with green eyes, and I'm the only one at Hogwarts."_

"_I am incapable of fancying a blonde, aren't I?"_

"_And I know you couldn't stop caring for me even if you tried."_

"_I've tried on many occasions, yes."_

"_And once I tell you I love you on Valentine's Day you'll never even think of looking elsewhere."_

He doesn't mind waiting for her. Sure, he's a bloke and he's got certain needs, but more than all that he needs her and he's perfected the art of patience.

But she has this paranoia (he can smell it on her) that he's got expectations. He knows she's scared that he'll up and drop her if she's got nothing else to give him, which is stupid because he could have gotten anything he needed from Jennifer Lindsay if he'd wanted.

It's not arrogance if it's true.

He watches as a ray of sunshine breaks through for a second before getting swallowed up by the greedy sky.

He never thought it'd be this hard. His disillusionment came on strong and sudden, not even a week ago. Being with her was so simple and fun and there was no worry. Now he's stumbling around in the dark, trying to figure her out and wishing he didn't have to.

The laughter, the excitement, all that comes with a new relationship is wearing away.

He's worried that this discontent is what they're made up of deep down, and he doesn't want to think about that.

"_You could just tell me now."_

"…_I'd rather just leave you in suspense."_

"_That's not very nice."_

"_When have I ever been nice, Potter? I made you wait three years of turning down dates before we kissed, after all."_

"_Oh, don't make me wait as long as that."_

"_Don't beg. I definitely won't tell you if you beg."_

"_Fine, fine. Don't say a word."_

She notices her thighs are clenched together long after they should be. It takes effort to relax her body.

Kissing him, touching him, feeling him - it's overwhelming.

She realizes that he's always overwhelmed her senses no matter what he was doing. When he teased her she grew so mad a haze bloomed in front of her eyes. When he told her how deeply he felt for her, she was swamped with confusion. And when he touches her now, she's undone by lust and love.

She's afraid at those times. She's afraid she'll lose herself.

It's one of the main reasons she won't go farther than a quick feel with him. If she gives all of her body over, what will be left behind?

She wants her sense of self intact. (She wants to stab Laurel Mackenzie's eyes out.) She wants to separate herself from him.

Except she doesn't, and that scares her even more. Even as she smiles and thanks everything around her for giving her the chance to know him (and means it, too) she worries about it so much that she resorts to playing those games of avoiding him.

But she can't do anything other than sit back and let things happen passionately and passively with him.

"_Hmm… James Potter, I love you more than you love me - even though you're a great big prat."_

"_No, don't flatter me so, you'll boost my ego to epic and previously-unseen proportions."_

"_Is that even possible?"_

"_Oh, ha-ha. …I love you too, by the way. Pathetically so."_

"_I know. It is pretty pathetic."_

He knows two things for certain. She loves him. And she doesn't want to.

After all this time observing her too closely for his own good, he knows when she's hiding something from him. She's laughter and teasing but her eyes are in agony.

He wishes he could feel guilty, and that it's his fault, but she makes things so confusing. He can't reconcile her conflicting feelings. She says she wants to hate him, she says she loves him, she says all sorts of things he can't grasp. Her words are like water in his hands.

He's afraid that she'll drop him. She avoids him sometimes and it's a punishment for something he doesn't know he's done.

It's a stupid thing to fear, just like she's stupid to worry _he_ might drop _her_. Worry never did anyone any good if it was over something useless.

Outside his dorm window, that ray of sunshine comes back, and it begins to spread. He watches with interest.

He'd like to make that ray of sunshine breaking through the cloud cover a metaphor for his life and how things are going with her, but he can't summon up the right description and analogy. Nothing quite lines up, because he doesn't know what's better, the clouds or the sunshine.

If he could say the right thing, he'd say it. But he can only stare at the clouds.

* * *

><p>After probably depressing everyone with writing in a happy conversation and making their thoughts so gloomy, I should probably explain that this story goes on for a few more years in their timeline so… bear with me as I work out my issues with obsessive love, alright?<p>

Thanks to **RavenSoulSister**, **Elizabeth Bells**, **NikiJane**, and **Megan** for reviewing. Also, thanks to everyone who _wanted_ to review but couldn't due to the Marauders mucking up the site. Those pesky buggers. You all get a magic pony! (And the music list for the chapters is on my profile... soon.) Next post is in three days, please review ^_^


	7. May 20th, 1978

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_May 20, 1978_

She pulls out an old piece of parchment, one with scratches and blots and crossings-out. It's a year old in one week.

She can easily blame the entire last year on that one botched essay, though the blame is nonsensical and silly. Without that single line for her to ponder on all last summer she wouldn't have made such a mess of everything. Her eyes scan down to reread (for the thousandth time) something barely visible under harsh lines of ink.

_Have you ever been in love?_

Yes, she now can safely say. Yes, she has.

It's as terrible and as beautiful as he described, and more than anything she regrets being scared of it and hiding from it. Because he's perfect - no, he's not, but at least he's perfect for her - and she's a silly, silly girl for trying to ignore that.

She sits down on her bed, the parchment clutched in her hands like her most treasured possession.

And slowly, she lies back and stares at the ceiling but all she can see are the words over and over again. His words. His question. His lovely mouth, one that snogs so well and smirks so infuriatingly, speaking to her about love. His eyes, glinting behind his glasses and pouring his heart into hers.

If she didn't know before, she knows now for certain; she never wants to be without him.

"_Lily!"_

"_James, I can't really talk right now."_

"_Lil, we've got a date tonight. Did you forget again?"_

"_Oh… I'm sorry. I'm just so swamped with studying for the N.E.W.T.s and I don't have the time."_

"_Could you at least look me in the eye when you try to bullshit me?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_We have the same amount of lessons and I'm hardly swamped. And Quidditch finals are in two weeks."_

He takes another drink and laughs at Sirius dancing on the table with two birds. It's the most excitement the Hog's Head has seen in years, and everyone's having a grand time.

This is the last true party (Quidditch victory party notwithstanding, if they manage to beat Hufflepuff in the final) their year is going to have at school, and every seventh year is invited. That's not to say every seventh year came. There's a lack of Slytherins, only one or two girls at the most, in their midst.

And _she_ isn't here. She's back in her dorm, probably throwing darts at a picture of his head with all the spite she can manage, and she can manage quite a lot.

He wouldn't have been here either. They had a date all planned out, but apparently that's shot. He doesn't care.

He doesn't.

The professors probably suspect something is going on in Hogsmeade, but it's so close to the end of their time in Hogwarts that it just doesn't matter. Besides, he's made sure (so has everybody else) that no sixth years are present, or any other underclassmen.

After all, they're all of age, they can all have alcohol legally, and no one's skipping lessons the next day because it's the weekend.

"_Well, forgive me if I'm not as bright as you."_

"_Don't start with that, Lil - you know that's complete rubbish."_

"_You implied it."_

"_No, I didn't. You just put words in my mouth like you always do."_

"_Sorry, is this your way of getting me to go out with you tonight? Because it's not working."_

"_Merlin's pants, Lily, I don't want to fight."_

She isn't sure, but she'd like to believe she might have fallen in love with him even if he hadn't said anything.

The impromptu confession definitely sped things along but she can't picture a world where her heart is independent of him. One year ago he confessed his love to her in a corridor on her way to Arithmancy and on his way to… she realizes she never knew where he was heading.

One year ago, he defined love to her in the simplest and most complex way and fixed her mind on him.

It scares her, just a little, how quickly her feelings switched from apathy and disinterest to the deepest of connections. But her fear is fading away ever so slowly and the essence of whatever's left behind is simply gratitude.

She thanks anyone who might listen for him.

She thanks the world for bringing him into her life, for the way he barged in and refused to leave.

For the way he whittled her down like wood, wearing away her defenses and resistance until all those unnecessary parts were stripped away and there was only her left behind and her love for him. He accomplished the impossible and did it without ever giving up.

At least, without ever giving up completely.

"_And yet, you're the one who picked it."_

"_Yeah, well, I'm an idiot. We've all established that by now."_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"…_Look, could you just tell me why you've been avoiding me?"_

"_I haven't been avoiding you."_

"_Oh, sorry, the last two weeks were all in my head, were they?"_

"_You've been busy with the Quidditch final."_

"_That's why I've been scheduling dates! So we can actually spend time together! You know, as a couple?"_

He's having fun. Really, he is. He's better off without her here.

Quite honestly, he's better off without her at all. All she does is play games with him and mess with his mind. She's no good for him and it's high time he figured that out. It's stupid to even pretend they had any chance together.

After all, she's a bitch. She's a horrible, horrid bitch and she's rotten.

Not just rotten - oh, no. Worse than rotten. He now knows why she was friends with Snape for so many years; she's more shriveled and cruel on the inside than the slimy git.

He hopes she steps in front of some Death Eater's wand and gets blasted off the face of the planet. He hopes she trips in Potions and falls into a cauldron of poison. He hopes a stray Bludger smashes her deceptively lovely face in at the Quidditch Final.

(It dulls the pain if he gets angry.)

He wants her to feel every bit of hurt she's ever caused him and then twice over.

A hand touches his shoulder and he sees Laurel Mackenzie at his side.

"_I'm busy."_

"_Damn it, Lily!"_

"_Don't shout at me like that!"_

"_You stop lying, then!"_

"_I'm not lying! Perhaps if you'd stop sleeping through school you'd be busy, too!"_

"…_I can't believe you just said that. I cannot believe you just said that."_

"_I said it, alright. You're lazy."_

She can safely say she loves him and it doesn't kill her. The remedy to this ailment came on very sudden.

The best she can describe it has something to do with the brightest sunshine in all eternity, and walking through a dark forest where no sunlight hit the ground, and then stumbling upon a meadow where all the sun flooded in and blinded her eyes and warmed all of her with its brilliance.

But she's pants at metaphors so she doesn't bother trying to elaborate.

She continues to stare at the ceiling and she imagines what their wedding might look like. Then she stops and backtracks, first imagining how he'll propose because knowing him it would be something spectacular and romantic. She imagines tears of joy running from her eyes.

Their wedding, she imagines would be simple and intimate. Only their closest friends and family would be there and she'd wear something unadorned.

She smiles at the thought of his face when she walks down the aisle, because he'd be in shock.

And their children… she imagines a little girl with dark hair and hazel-grey eyes, with her lips and nose but his smile all the same. A little boy with red unruly hair and green eyes, and a face like his. She takes a snapshot of these two darlings, whom she imagines to be the perfect mix of them.

She can only imagine beautiful children with him.

"_Lazy? I'm not fucking lazy, Evans! I've been working harder than you can imagine to get into the Auror programme, not that you'd care to know it!"_

"_Oh, believe me, Potter, I know all about your bloody Auror programme and I'm sick to death of it!"_

"_Forgive me for having aspirations! Forgive me for actually wanting to do something important after Hogwarts instead of making potions for a living!"_

"_Don't you dare -"_

"_No, you've got some serious problems if you think working at an apothecary is helpful to anyone!"_

He grabs Laurel and he snogs her, he backs her into the wall and smashes her against it, and he's violent and drunk and strangely the girl seems to like it. Laurel always wanted him, and he knows _she_ hates Laurel and he's all for anything she's ever hated.

Now he wishes _she_ was here so she could see this, see what he was doing and cry.

He wants her to cry and scream an apology because really, it's all _her_ fault and she broke him down over the years.

He grips Laurel's waist so hard he can feel her ribs and she squirms in his grip uncomfortably, but she doesn't break away. Good, because he wouldn't let her. He should probably shag her, that'd show _her_, that'd cut her deep.

Why he ever held back on sex was a mystery. He can have everything he needs from pathetic, needy Laurel Mackenzie and his first time won't be with her like they'd planned.

And with that thought he begins to pull the Ravenclaw girl outside, somewhere a little more private, but a place where people can still see and still spread rumors because he knows _she_ hates gossip. Hearing it like that will be the worst, won't it?

It serves her right.

"_It's more important than strutting around and waving your wand like an arrogant prick!"_

"…_Evans, you are the most self-important bitch I've ever met."_

"_Am I? Am I, James?"_

"_Yeah, you are. You're pathetic."_

"_Why are you dating me, then, if I'm so pathetic?"_

"_Because I'm bloody in love with you! Although, I'm starting to wish I weren't."_

She takes time to imagine, because that's the only place she can find a world where he and she have a future together.

It's all her fault and she knows it. He doesn't deserve one ounce of blame because she pushed him and pushed him and got her just reward for taking him for granted.

She deserves a lot less than his love. She deserves to feel every bit of hurt she's ever caused him and then twice over. She's bad and horrible and mean, and though he can be cruel sometimes he's rarely cruel to her and hasn't been for years now. She can say no such thing.

Without her, he'd never been driven to the edge and said so many awful things.

Without her, he'd have exercised love and patience in the face of her fears and reassured her of everything good about her.

She knows that everything separating them right now is her fault. She knows it. It's the only thought that can stay in her head when she reflects on reality and bitterness and losing the best thing she's ever experienced. She thinks it so much that the word itself loses meaning and sounds foreign in her mouth as she whispers it aloud.

So it's imagination she returns to, and she imagines a future with him and a way to repair the damage she rendered.

But everyone knows imagination is the inverse of reality, she still knows it's all her fault.

"_I wish you weren't either. Then I could be rid of you."_

"_Fine. If that's how you like it…"_

"_What? You dropping me?"_

"_I think you dropped me first, Evans. You just didn't have the stones to say it aloud."_

He has Laurel out back, and her legs are wrapped around his waist. He's pulling off her blouse the best he can with drunken hands, and then someone pulls _him_ off her instead.

He hears someone yell at Laurel to get back inside, and then he looks up to see his best mate with eyes of burning steel.

Sirius punches him in the face once, twice, in the stomach, in the face again.

While Sirius shouts at him over and over, while he talks about _her,_ while he goes on about how he's the worst sort of bloke and everything he's never wanted to hear from the only brother he's ever known, he feels the anger slowly slip out of his tight hold.

And though he scrambles to get it back desperately there's no retrieval and there's no second chances.

He breaks down and confesses, he says she left him, and he cries in a way he's never done before because he doesn't cry. He spills out everything, every stupid emotion and every sickening hurt she's ever caused him, and he still fucking _loves_ her for no good reason.

Sirius sits with him, as good as he can offer. He tries to calm himself, but it's the most impossible thing he's ever faced.

What he knows now, what he should've known then, is that he and she were never meant to be.

* * *

><p>*ducks rotten fruit* I am so sorry!<p>

Thanks to **flash photography**, **RavenSoulSister**, **emilyswain**, **twitchy**-**raven**, **Elizabeth Bells**, **zizzy**, **Chronicles of an Insomniac**, and **Megan** for reviewing. Next post is tomorrow, please review. Don't kill me ^_^


	8. June 5th, 1978

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_June 5__th__, 1978_

She has the perfect view of the back of his head.

She almost wishes she didn't, because in the last two weeks every time she looks at him her eyes well up with tears for so many different, painful reasons. But she'll never cry in public, and she'll never show those stupid gossips they've gotten to her.

Concentrating on her Charms N.E.W.T. should be her only purpose for today. She can't think about _him_ and everything that's happened between them

But the words on the test before her are in an alien language.

She watches as he shifts in his chair and scribbles away, noticing in a hopeless way how his back flexes and strains with the simple act of using a quill. It's hard to ignore how alluring and beautiful that sight is to her, and harder still to ignore the prickling behind her eyes as he ruffles his hair in frustration.

There's no point in watching him, at least that's what she tells herself.

But his own words have come back to haunt her.

Because she needs to see him to reassure herself that he is still there, still as beautiful and frustrating (still as wonderful and infuriating) as she remembers. And she's dying inside, knowing that she's not good enough and not worthy of him.

"_You got the rounds all drawn up, then?"_

"_Yeah. Covered that last night."_

"_Oh, alright then. …Evans -"_

"_What, you can't even call me Lily now? One snog from another bird and it's back to last names?"_

"_That not what I -"_

He can't focus, though he's trying. He has to get an O on his five main courses to get into the Auror programme, but when he thinks of Charms and N.E.W.T.s and studying, thoughts of her inevitably follow, and thoughts of the last two weeks.

The last two weeks… he's hated himself (and her, a little bit) throughout that time.

He hates that he snogged Laurel Mackenzie, that he would've shagged her even though he thinks nothing of her. He hates that Laurel is following him around as if she's entitled to him and the way she sends _her_ those triumphant, cruel looks. He hates that he liked snogging Laurel even without wanting revenge.

He hates that mix of pity and disgust in Sirius' eyes whenever _she_ walks in or out of a room, and he hates that those feelings aren't directed towards her at all but at him instead. He hates that they still have to work with each other under the guise of civility as Head Boy and Girl when all they want to do is avoid.

He hates that he crushed her so completely.

If anyone asks her, she denies it, but he knows her well enough to see she's upset. Beyond upset.

What he hates most of all?

He hates that, even as it kills him to see her in pain because he still (stupidly) loves her, there's a part of him taking vindication in her suffering.

"_Not interested, sorry. I'm done listening to you."_

"_Is this what the entire meeting's going to be like?"_

"_I can be professional, James. Surely that's not slipped your memory already."_

"_What do you want me to say?"_

She's grateful that only one more Prefect meeting stands between her and the summer. If there were anymore she might feign sickness.

Answers for her exam are coming easily to her, and she writes them down with the attention she'd grant a passing butterfly. Yes, it's all very interesting and good, but she's got thoughts that run deeper than all that.

What she's thinking and feeling is all about him.

She'd rather just forget him and find a new way to live her life, but the subtle irony of her existence is that, as soon as she accepted her life was wrapped around him, her whole world shattered and she needed to escape from all that he is. And since all that he is makes up all she is, she's a glaringly empty hole.

She spends most of her time with Mary and Hannah, both of whom rock her to sleep some nights when she's crying into her pillow (though she tries to be quiet). Mary had her own heart broken a few weeks back, but she feels less entitled than Mary to be upset, because she made it happen, she pushed him to the very edge.

They come pouring out of her eyes anyway, but she can't help but feel she doesn't deserve to shed any tears.

If she hadn't made such a mess of things, that horrible Mackenzie cow wouldn't have gotten involved.

Even so, she's angry and hurt and she wants to make him feel just as terrible. A part of her, a small part, realizes he feels guilty but she's vindictive and cold and the pain inside her fuels a rage that acts as a shell around all her fragile bits.

She watches him pause over his exam, and wonders what's on his mind.

It's not fair, and in a moment of bitterness she blames him for everything.

"_Oh, honestly - haven't you figured it out by now? I don't want you to say anything to me anymore. If it's not about Head business then don't speak."_

"…_Lily, I didn't -"_

"_That's speaking."_

"_Yeah, well, we're going to have to speak sometime."_

"_No we don't."_

He's worried, perhaps the first time in his life, about how well he's doing on this bloody exam. Each time he pauses and glances up to the front the sand in the hourglass has fallen more and more. Soon McGonagall will call for the exams and he'll not be finished.

He grits his teeth and forces his mind to concentrate.

Except… except he can't help but glance over at Sirius, who's already finished his own test and is leaning back in his chair, looking bored and casually eyeing the girl in front of him (he notes with muted surprise that it's Jennifer Lindsay).

Sirius, who's never had more than a passing fancy. Sirius, who hasn't known love in his short, horribly stagnant life.

He envies Sirius.

He sighs and begins reading lines, writing answers, forcing thoughts, doing all with a speed he can barely afford to keep. Words don't pour out of his hand as they did during so many other of his exams - they are being teased out like a reluctant molasses of understanding. He's going to fail.

It occurs to him then, as it's occurred to him many times, that she could have helped him study for this. She could have provided him with help.

No, these exams are his future, and since she's no longer a part of his future they can't be associated with one another. The idea of her no longer existing in his world is a strange one, and for a second he almost puts down his quill in surprise and dismay.

McGonagall calls the time.

"_Lil -"_

"_James, shut up! I can't do this! I can't stand here and listen to you explain things because there's no explanation. I fucked up, but then so did you."_

"_I didn't mean to hurt you."_

"_Don't be such a liar."_

She had expected Sirius to hate her most, out of principle.

But his best mate, the charmingly handsome Sirius Black, is the only one of the four boys who still spends time with her. Remus avoids her because he hates confrontation and Peter follows _his_ lead. But Sirius?

She's surprised by how sweet he is. He doesn't ask questions about what happened, he doesn't blame one or the other and takes both their sides because he cares for them both. It's a friendship she never expected to form when she fell in love with _him_, but she's immensely grateful.

She sits outside with him, and studies with him for their exams (only two left now), and they play chess. Sirius doesn't say a lot of words.

And now, as her classmates shuffle out of the Great Hall with expressions of mixed relief and terror, Sirius takes her hand and leads her out of the castle and away from gossip. His hand is warm and smooth and friendly, and she imagines nothing better than holding his hand for the rest of her life.

Further out they go, out towards the Quidditch pitch.

The sun is warm on her skin and she can feel the summer freckles splashing on to her nose. For the first time in days, she laughs.

She gives Sirius a grateful smile as he glances back at her. He's a better man than she's ever given him credit for and she regrets passing him off for some simple arrogant bully. Of course, she also regrets passing _him_ off as well, but she doesn't want to dwell on that.

"_I'm not lying, I really didn't mean -"_

"_You've no interest in that slag, you never did, and I told you flat out I didn't like her looking at you."_

"_I… well, what I meant is…"_

He follows them, though he doesn't know why. He has no purpose in knowing what they're doing together.

Sirius wouldn't ever do something like _that _to him. He's a decent mate and there's a certain understanding between blokes about friends' girls and ex-girls, and there is no question in his mind that Sirius wouldn't cross that line under pain of death.

But his feet move in discordance with reason and he follows them all the same.

He watches as Sirius takes her into the stands and places her in a seat. Even from this far away, he sees her smiling.

He resents that smile. Every time she smiles a little bit of him is stolen away with it. Time was he'd give anything to see it and now when her face lights up he wants to run away though he's glued to the grass.

Sirius begins acting out something strange and involving lots of wild gestures and lunges. He almost laughs at the sight before him, but then he sees her laugh and something crunches inside his chest most unpleasantly. It's both sad and interesting that things about her he used to celebrate are now painful to behold.

He's got to get her out of his life.

He's got to pull her out by the roots. She's tangled herself inside him so very deeply, but as soon as he leaves Hogwarts she has to be sucked from him like a poison.

It's a mark of how dangerous she is to him that he mixes his metaphors like swapping socks.

"_I told you how much I hated her. There's no way you weren't trying to hurt me, so don't insult me."_

"_What do you want from me? What can I do to make this better?"_

"…_Are you saying you want to get back together, James?"_

She only gives Sirius half her attention as he plays out the Quidditch match of two days past. After all, she was hardly in the right state to see _him_ flying around, looking beautiful and determined and all the crowd cheering for him.

She doesn't mind watching Sirius dance around - in fact, she finds it absolutely hilarious - but being around Sirius inevitably leads to thoughts of _him_.

In the back of her mind, she considers him.

That first night, she lay on her bed and considered what she might say to him to bring him back, to make amends and repair their romance. Dramatic gestures and tears made up the majority of her plans and as she thinks about it, he really wouldn't have liked something too sappy anyway but she was desperate.

When she woke up in the morning, though, all the school was talking about that party, and all the school was gossiping over him and that… complete slag.

Her heart was promptly shattered into a million pieces.

She deals with the hurt and the pain in the only way she knows how; lashing out at him and trying to transfer all her emotions into him. It's a tried and failed method but she attempts it anyway because the alternative of keeping feelings locked inside isn't an option.

And, though it's stupid, she hopes that if she rails against him enough and gives him enough protest, he'll hear past her anger and rage into her loneliness. She hopes that he'll hear how sad she is and somehow, impossibly, he'll take her back.

She hopes they'll find a way back to each other.

"…_No. No, I don't."_

"_Oh. Then I don't see the point of this discussion."_

"_Lily, I'm sorry."_

"_Yeah? Tough luck, James."_

He's decided he no longer likes the color red. Or green.

Christmas will be hell this year, that's for sure.

It's a silly thing to decide, but all things of her make his mind ache so the more he separates silly things from his life the easier his world becomes. Pulling apart color is just the slim roots of the whole but it's a start, and any start is good enough because he's never tried anything like this before.

Sure, he's attempted every now and then to forget her, but it was a half-hearted and self-sabotaging attempt. His attempts were those of a reluctant dreamer still with hopes of eventual success and fanciful ideas of that success.

He now knows the sting of success and understands (though he'll admit regret) why holding to her is such a mistake.

He turns and heads back to the castle, hands in his pockets and head bowed in concession.

Two weeks of hell. Now, only two weeks before school was over and he can move on and find a new sort of life, one without her and without all this nonsense. Five years is long enough to carry a torch, and for what? To get smashed to pieces in the end? No, it's better to just let go already.

* * *

><p>I don't know why this chapter was so hard for me to write. Probably because, though it's sort of important, I really don't like writing people in agony. I'm really just a softy under all this metal, aren't I? Again, baby grands are not meant to be thrown at heads. I'm looking at you, Jenn.<p>

Thanks to **emilyswain** (twice, for some reason, but it's all good), **NikiJane**, **Megan**, **flash photography**, and **twitchy**-**raven** for reviewing. Next post is tomorrow, please review ^_^


	9. September 17th, 1978

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

**He** **and** **She**

_September 17__th__, 1978_

She finds a certain comfort in cooking food.

It's something she didn't figure out until after leaving school and getting a flat with Hannah. She's never been the domestic sort, but food and potions aren't all that different once you really start looking at them side by side.

She's making a stew now, the closest thing to an actual potion as she can manage.

She can feel his presence behind her as he engages in serious conversation with the remaining Order members.

Most of them left after the meeting, jobs to get to or assignments to cover, but she's off for the day and so are the Auror trainees like him. She's preparing dinner for anyone who would stay and it's really very cathartic because her hands are as busy as her mind.

Some of her wishes she could've had the chance to cook for him one day as his wife. Again, horribly domestic but as she's growing up she realizes that domestic isn't really wrong. She was raised on a steady diet of feminism and independent thought and now she doesn't mind being a housewife like her mother.

At least, she doesn't mind if it doesn't get in the way of everything else like this Order of the Phoenix business.

"_Good meeting, wasn't it?"_

"_Yeah… I didn't expect Dumbledore to sign you up, actually."_

"_Why? My job at the apothecary a little too mundane?"_

"_I didn't mean that."_

"_I know you didn't. Sorry, that was a cheap shot. What did you mean, anyway? You meant because I'm muggleborn?"_

"_Er, a bit. Mostly I meant you've got …conflicting relations."_

He realizes, for perhaps the first time since meeting her, that being in the same room as her doesn't have to be this extravagant ordeal.

He's really quite peaceful right now - in relation to her, anyway. He's deeply troubled about the state of the world and as he discusses this with Frank and Alice Longbottom, and Dedalus Diggle, and Benjy Fenwick, he is filled with this deep sense of purpose.

It's more than just being an Auror. It's about going deeper, helping more people, fighting for the cause.

Titles are immaterial in the Order of the Phoenix.

He joined up the second he left school. The very second, to be exact. He'd thought it'd be a nice distraction from her and he could engage in all sorts of daring missions while sitting around on his arse waiting for the end of August and the beginning of the Auror programme.

But it turned out to be so much more than that. He's a believer, a follower, in what this organization represents.

It represents freedom, equality, understanding, truth, and loyalty.

He used to want all those things from her. But he's fine getting them from the Order. Better than fine.

He's strangely happy.

"_If you're referring to Severus, you know full well we've parted ways. You were there. And need I remind you that you rubbed it in."_

"_Ooh, I was hoping you hadn't noticed that. Let me get away with it all this time, did you?"_

"_Nothing escapes me; you should know that."_

"_Ha-ha. …So how, er, how's Sirius?"_

"_James, ask what you really want to know, please. I can tell when you're being evasive."_

She wants to say all sorts of things to him, things that don't matter anymore like how much she misses him and how deeply she loves him. Yet for the first time in the longest time she can see how peaceful he is, how complete and relaxed and it has nothing to do with her.

She sees clearly that he doesn't need her anymore.

Now it's not so very hard to imagine his life before they ever became a couple. She feels how he must have felt all those years pining after her.

There's desperation and a horror to it all, but she's figured out one crucial thing.

She loves him completely and selflessly, and if she loves him so deeply then she can't bring him down with her messes and games. If she loves him so deeply, she has to accept whatever is best for him and respect that. Tethering him to a world of misery isn't right.

For a moment, he laughs, and all the air ties into a knot in her throat. Merlin, she doesn't _want_ to be selfless.

She's got such little practice at it when it comes to him.

Reflecting on their relationship, it's clear to her now more than ever that things went on her terms and her whims. He was not an equal partner and she dragged him around by his necktie. That's not to say beauty was absent from their romance, because it shone brighter than most love stories.

But she knows that no matter how lovely the rose, thorns are always waiting underneath.

"_Can you really?"_

"_Well, yeah. That and I know you talk to Sirius every day."_

"_Right, should've been a giveaway. What I mean to ask is how you've been doing."_

"_I'm alright, I suppose. I'm sharing a flat with Hannah."_

"_I know."_

"_You… never mind. Sirius again."_

"_Meddlesome little sod, isn't he? Don't know how I've put up with him all these years."_

He inhales the scent of her cooking, and marvels at how strange this is of her. As long as he's known her, cooking was never in her repertoire.

Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought he did, or perhaps he didn't know her at all.

But now it's no longer his passion or calling to understand her. He succeeded in pulling her out and putting her away, something he didn't think was possible. It is finally time to pursue something different and less destructive in his life.

He could still be friends with her, maybe. Today's conversation convinced him of that a little. That's all they were ever meant to be in the end. Anything else and they might as well destroy each other with too much of themselves. Friendship is still a possibility.

He'd like to be friends with her. They never really gave that a go before.

The closest they can come to claiming friendship is those first two months of seventh year, but that time was soaked in sexual tension and longing. All that is fading away now after last May and he's finally able to move on.

Moving on to what, he doesn't yet know.

"_He's pretty awful. And you? How've you been doing?"_

"_Good. The programme's going really well. Dorcas is training my group - you met her in the meeting, the one with the really long hair."_

"_Oh. She's very lovely."_

"_I hadn't noticed."_

"_Right."_

She wonders if he's seeing anyone. He says he hasn't, but he might just be sparing her feelings.

Then again, he doesn't have any evidence that she would need her feelings spared. She's just blindly hoping he still cares enough to worry over her. There's no point, obviously, since she's going about this all selflessly and such, but even if she'll never act them out there are certain things she wants.

She wants to kiss him.

She wants to beg him to love her again.

She wants to throw herself to the ground and tell him how sorry she is.

She wants him.

Of course, it's a wild fancy, and as she turns off the oven and announces the stew is ready, she tosses those thoughts into the rubbish bin as easily as she did the chicken bones earlier because, obviously, wishes and wants have no place in her world.

There's an understanding between her and love - she doesn't try to remove it, and it stays out of her decisions. It's the best she can do, considering that her heart is still soaring after that one piece of vital, unresolved news he shared with her. She can't hope to stay away now that they're both in the Order.

After all, she's been clinging to any scrap of information Sirius throws her way now and again, hoarding it like a magpie.

"_Really! I haven't been looking."_

"_It's alright, you know. If you do look. I wouldn't blame you one bit."_

"_Hmm… no, haven't so far."_

"…_James?"_

"_What is it, Lil?"_

"_Oh, er, I was just wondering… bit stupid, now that we're out of school and everything, but I've got to know… Laurel Mackenzie."_

He lines up with the rest of the queue, curious to see what she's made.

It doesn't occur to him until Dedalus mentions his wife's cooking that she very easily could've tested out some of her cooking on him in much of the same capacity. The sting of losing her isn't so terrible anymore, because he can acknowledge this and even smile about it in a way he hadn't been able to last June.

Three months apart for them did more good than he realized.

He doesn't wince at thoughts of marriage, or the color red, and he doesn't cringe at the sight of lilies.

He's not entirely liberated (he sees her ladling out stew and he marvels at how lovely she is) but he's on his way, and that's just fine. Rome wasn't built in a day and dragons aren't trained in a week. There's no hurry.

And there's no hurry to find someone else, either, though by the sounds of it she thinks it's high time he did.

If she's already written off their relationship, then it hurts a little, but that's good for her. She should have someone to fall in love with properly and get married to, someone she can have children with and then grow old together. She deserves that and so does he.

He's in no hurry, though. He's loved one woman for five years and now it's time for him to be on his own, unattached.

He'll have to ask Sirius how he does it.

"_What about her?"_

"_Did you sleep with her? That night, when we split?"_

"_Lily -"_

"_It's okay if you did, really. I just wanted to know."_

"_I never did. I …I might have, but it never got to that point. And I'm glad about that."_

"_Oh. Good."_

She hesitates when it's his turn for only the smallest for moments before taking the bowl and smiling at him.

Her insides melt, as they always do, when he smiles back, but she doesn't let it show.

There's something about him that scares her right now. _He_ doesn't scare her, exactly, but it's a remnant of that time when loving him was as dangerously painful as a Cruciatus Curse. What if she never finds another love? What if, through his charming smiles and heart-wrenching determination, he's spoiled her for all eternity?

She doesn't know if she can bear that. Loving one man in unrequited resignation for the rest of her life sounds terrible.

And yet she can't stop poking the idea like a bruise, the hurt so wonderful and confirming she is _alive_.

Their fingers brush as she hands him back his bowl, and he doesn't seem to notice. She, however, pulls her hand away as soon as she can without dropping the dratted thing. His touch is like fire and oceans and electricity and isn't she out of school now, shouldn't she stop having such a stupid school girl's fancy?

She is just like a giddy little girl with a crush she'll never tell, which is foolish.

Except it isn't. Except, she really can't ever tell because neither of them can handle it. She's in for a life of him and his life will move beyond her.

One day she'll be alright with that.

"_That's good?"_

"_Er… Perhaps. Not really. Just glad to know."_

"_Right. Cause, if it was good -"_

"_It just is, is all. Not good or bad."_

"_But if it was, you know that I -"_

"_It's alright, James. You really don't have to explain. Things have changed."_

He wishes she didn't still affect him. It's not the same as before, when he was drowning in the sensation of her and the world stopped moving for days at a time.

It's still something awfully powerful, but at least his head is above water now and he can breathe. Every day, a little easier. Every day, a little better and brighter and less horrible. She's lucky to have loved him for such a short time because at least she knows how to live without him.

He's a child all over again, taking little steps and looking at the world with fresh, inquisitive eyes.

He gives her a grateful smile and moves on, pretending there was so surge of magic between them, pretending she didn't nearly Stupefy him with three innocent fingers.

What he does do is sit and grin at Dorcas, who rolls her eyes at him in return. He thinks Dorcas harbors a soft spot for him but he's not willing to test the theory out and potentially lose some vital limbs and organs. For someone so dainty, she really is terrifying when she means to be.

A spark of thought enters him, and he notes it with some surprise: _she_ is terrifying when she means to be.

It's nice that he hasn't drawn that comparison between the two until now. It means he hasn't thought of her every waking second, and it startles him further to realize that today is the first time he's thought of her in nearly three days.

It's nice, and it's sad.

He finally can begin to experience a life beyond her, and for the first time, it doesn't feel like a death sentence.

* * *

><p>Fear not, my minions.<p>

Thanks to **emilyswain**, **Elizabeth Bells**, **apla**-**xamogelase**, **flash photography**, and **twitchy**-**raven** for reviewing. Next post is in two days, please review ^_^


	10. October 9th, 1978

Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.

This is similar to chapter four (if you can remember that far back) in that the main bulk of the chapter happens all at the same time, and it's bookended by after reflections. This chapter is dedicated to everyone threatening my demise - you know who you are.

* * *

><p><strong>He<strong> **and** **She**

_October 9__th__, 1978_

She feels strange, like her body is made all of rubber.

It's a good sort of strange and she doesn't mind it. She keeps her eyes closed and pretends she is sleeping because she doesn't want to speak just yet. She wants to revel in silence and peace and the still of being half-awake.

The best she can describe it is awareness throughout her whole body. She knows the location of every cell in her body and every tiny blood vessel.

She feels complete in a way she never has before.

She doesn't know if this makes her happy or not. Perhaps it does, but she's a little numb right now - so many emotions just poured out of her in every imaginable way possible and feeling anything other than light, hazy observations won't happen anytime soon. Not that she minds, of course.

Her world's been made up of heavy emotions for so long, it's nice to lie down and let it all rest.

Time seems to stand still as her head sinks comfortably into that soft, soft pillow and her body is wrapped around in silk sheets. Perhaps it's the bed that makes everything so wonderfully blissful. She's never been in a bed so expensive and lovely before.

But she knows it isn't the bed.

**-  
>O<br>-**

"…_Hi."_

"_Lily. Er… what are you doing here?"_

"_Sirius said I could find you here. Look, we need to talk -"_

"_Not now, I'm working on something."_

"_Now, James. It's important."_

"_Fine. …Do you want to come in?"_

"_No. If I move I-I might lose all my courage and put Gryffindor to shame."_

"_Oh."_

He doesn't know what to say to her. He waits to see what's so important that she came knocking on his door, but she's speechless and fidgeting on his doorstep as though words have run off and left her stranded and cold.

He's filled with an overwhelming desire to reach out and hug her, to hold her close and make it all better. She looks so scared.

Thoughts of his essay on basic tracking are falling to the wayside as he watches her. Ironic, considering it's the first essay in years he's even been excited about writing up. The programme's been grueling but really very satisfying. He was just going to get some writing in before going to bed for the night.

But now his nightly routine has been very much interrupted by the beautiful, scared woman standing before him.

He'd like to say something witty and smart, but he's at a loss.

The last month they've been doing something akin to friendship, building slowly on their past relationship to bring about something new and quite possibly better. This, though, this doesn't feel like anything close to friendship. It feels like something they've never done before.

He watches her fidget and comb fingers through her hair nervously. Her hair's grown out so long since last September and it's lovely.

He waits for her to speak again.

"_I… I can't do it, I'm sorry."_

"_Come on, Lily, you've never been afraid to talk to me before."_

"_Right. Right… I've something I need to say."_

"_Yeah, so I gathered."_

"_I should've said this a long time ago, I should have said it a year ago instead of mucking about like a complete idiot."_

"_Lil -"_

"_No. Please? I need to get this out without you jumping in."_

"_Alright, continue."_

She keeps stopping when she should be starting, but all she can do is allude to what she's got to tell him.

It's a silly, silly thing to do because how the hell should he know what she's thinking? She's spent the last month projecting an air of complete indifference - no, not indifference, but definitely an air of polite interest. It's as if nothing ever happened between them as far as she's been playing it.

She's scared.

Merlin, she's so, so scared.

This isn't something she should be doing. She shouldn't be standing here on his doorstep while he's working on something important.

But now that she's here, how can give up? Obviously she can't just walk away now, he'll follow her and he won't let up. Besides, does she really want to stop talking and let what she's started go to waste?

No, no she doesn't. That's by far the last thing she wants.

It's selfish and it's stupid and so wrong, but she wants to tell him everything she should have said instead of smashing him into tiny, razor sharp pieces. It's painful, but now it's time to start picking up those pieces (she might bleed from contact) and putting him back together.

She takes a deep breath.

"…_Merlin, this is hard. James - I love you. And I know I told you that when we were together, but I guess I mean it more now than I used to.  
><em>_I used to say it because I wanted you all the time, and I didn't understand how important you were. I just wanted you a certain way and a lot of the time it wasn't right, the way I treated you. I used you to make myself feel better. I'm so sorry, James, I really am."_

"_You don't have to -"_

"_Just shut up, alright? Just shut up because I need to tell you all this, I've got to. I've tried to stay away but I can't.  
><em>_I see you every meeting and it kills me to let you go."_

He can't comprehend what she's saying to him. She's saying words that don't make sense to him, things he'd never thought to hear from her again.

Did she just say she loved him?

He can't wrap his head around it.

He's spent so long ripping out roots of her inside him away that he's forgotten that parts of him have been ripped out as well, but now they're all growing back all jumbled together. They're made of the same stuff, after all, and it's hard to separate one from the other.

Thinking is getting harder; he's overwhelmed by things he'd rather not feel and things he thought he never experience would again. Merlin help him, she's worming her way into his life all over again without any warning.

It's the only thing he knows for certain.

Why does she do this to him? Why does she say things he can't possibly understand and then wait for him to say the rest? Why does she falter and make him hold his breath a little bit longer as he wants for scraps of her affection? He doesn't know what she wants.

He doesn't know what he wants.

Something registers in his mind, something about how she's been trying to stay away from him and something about letting him go.

What on earth is she talking about? He can't make it clear in his head.

"_Let me go? What are you on about, Lil? Wh-"_

"_I can't stop being selfish, and I'm sorry, I really am, but I've got to know if you've still got feelings for me. I've got to know if we still have a shot."_

"…_Why are you doing this to me? Why now? We've finally moved on."_

"_I love you. I do. I never wanted to split; I was going to tell you that night how sorry I was but then I heard about Laurel -"_

She breaks off mid-sentence, still unable to articulate the absolute horror of waking up in the morning to hear of what he'd done.

The look of mixed surprise and horror when she tells him how close they were to repairing their relationship speaks for itself. She doesn't want that expression on his face. She hates seeing him coated in self-loathing and upset.

Damn Sirius for telling her to give it a shot. She really was going to let him move on with his life until stupid Sirius insisted she at least tell him what's what. She can already tell he's going to turn her away and her heart will be smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.

She should really get new friends.

She wishes she had enough self-restraint to ignore Sirius, because she really can't blame him for persuading her. If it hadn't been a suggestion in the back of her mind already, if she hadn't spent nights dreaming about doing this very thing, she wouldn't have succumbed to his insistence.

No, she can't blame Sirius, he reminds her too much of a little child watching his parents separate and hoping (scheming) to reunite them.

Instead the blame falls on her. She's put herself in a place to have her heart broken all over again and once again, it's her fault.

She can't go back and fix it, but at least she can try.

"_Oh, no. Oh, shit. Lily -"_

"_I'm not mad, I'm not! I get it, really, I mucked up."_

"_No… Merlin, if I'd known I wouldn't -"_

"_Of course you wouldn't have done it. That's the sort of man you are. A good man."_

He feels sick. Of course she would've wanted to get back together. Of course she would. How could he have thought any differently?

And then he mucked it up. She might think he did nothing wrong, but there's an equal share of blame to be had. Stupid, stupid him, snogging that awful Mackenzie girl when the only woman he's ever wanted was waiting for him to get back and mend things.

He's such a fucking idiot. He's so fucking stupid.

There she is, telling him he's a good man, telling him he's better than he really is because he _would_ have still done it.

Even if he'd known she was waiting, because while he can deny it aloud and tell her that he'd never, ever hurt her on purpose, he'd be lying. He was so angry that night, and so hurt, and so lost, he would have done anything to make her bleed inside so that he wasn't the only one.

He's been lying to her about the sort of person he is if she thinks he wouldn't. somewhere along the line she's developed a blind spot for all his faults. Time was she could pick out every flaw in his make-up and now she sees only the smooth lines.

It's all coming into his head at once and it only makes sense to set her to rights, to repair her damaged impressions.

Perhaps he's being an idiot. Maybe he should let her carry on believing he's better than he really is because then… he doesn't know what then.

But no, she thinks he's a good man and he should live up to her expectations of him even if they're false. He _has_ to set her to rights, tell her exactly what he would have done under any circumstance. But all he can manage to say are three inconsequential words that hardly carry the weight they should.

"_No I'm not."_

"_You are, though. Merlin knows you're not perfect, but you're so very good."_

"_Lil… no. Merlin and Agrippa, I can't do this again. I can't go through all of it again and I'm sorry, but it's just too much."_

"_James -"_

"_Of course I still have feelings for you. How can you ask me that? Of course I still love you. I've never done anything but love you.  
><em>_But all that misery? Why do we have to open those old wounds up and make it all worse again?"_

She starts to cry and steps forward. It's a good sign that he doesn't move away.

It's an even better sign that his hands come up to grasp above her elbows. She wraps her fingers around his forearms and feels the muscles of his body clenching with anticipation. Tears are still prickling in her eyes as if she's in physical, terrible pain. She never meant to make him miserable.

She's never realized (or perhaps she's just realizing anew) how unbelievably lovely he is. Warmth fills her chest to contradict the cold of water on her cheeks.

She clutches to him and he clutches to her, anchors of one another.

Relief overwhelms her to know that he still loves her even if he says it with sounds of such pain. Holding onto him is the only thing keeping her from floating away as she loses part of her gravity with falling tears. Otherwise, she might vanish.

Now she has to keep trying - this can't be the last touch they ever share. This can't be the last admission of love they ever make. It's not enough anymore to just pine away when she knows he's about as good at moving on as she is.

If she loses him now then what is the point of life?

She has no good arguments. She has nothing convincing and beautiful to say to him than can give a reason for him to possibly lose his world again.

She has conviction, though, and she's got that pure insanity that stupid people in love always have too much of. She has a heart that, as terribly silly as it sounds, beats for him and only for him. And shouldn't that be enough?

"_Because, James."_

"_Just because? That's it?"_

"_Because we're not the same people, and we've both got some perspective now."_

"_What good does perspective do anyone, Lily?"_

"_I know how important you are now. I know I'd rather die than see you in pain. I know I don't want to wake up in the morning and remember that I'm alone and I'll never fall in love with anyone else ever again. I know I want to live with you for the rest of my life and get married and have children and grow old."_

"…_Damn you, Lily Evans. Damn you."_

**-  
>O<br>-**

He trails a hand down her bare back, marveling at her exquisiteness. She's facing away from him but in no way does he feel she's turned away from him.

Of all the things he was planning to do tonight, losing his virginity wasn't one of them. He didn't even plan it when he kissed her, right there on his doorstep. They'd just sort of ended up in his bedroom and clothes came off.

It was awkward and fumbling at first, but then they developed rhythm and meaning and connection. He still feels that connection even though it's over and she's sleeping peacefully. Just lightly brushing her skin is enough now that they've experienced so much more.

He doesn't know what this means.

For so long, he was trying to get past her. He didn't stop to think she might not be doing the same.

Does he want to be with her?

If it means sex only, then it's tempting but ultimately he couldn't. If it means something more then yes, he doesn't see another option. After tonight and after hearing her say all the things she did, he doesn't know how to break things off again, he doesn't know how to stop feeling.

He twists his hand in her hair and lifts it to kiss the back of her neck, and she squirms. Is she awake?

Yes, she is. She turns over and smiles at him.

* * *

><p>I may have made myself vomit from all the romantic romance. I mean, gross. Sorry if you're all about sappy stuff, this must be killing your happy buzz. Black hearted folk like me, I apologize for making cheese come out of your ears and nose.<p>

Todd rewards all her loyal reviewers, such as **ErinFabu**, **emilyswain**, **NikiJane**, **supermegafoxyawesomehot**, **twitchy**-**raven**, **Shriya**, **zizzy**, **flash photography**, **Megan**, and **The B00kW0RM**. Here is a magical candy land. It's pretty much how Katy Perry imagines California looks like.

EDIT: While I still adore this story, and I wanted to write all the way to the end (aka bloody deaths and things), what comes after didn't fit the tone and it just feels ...complete. At least, to me. Maybe one day I'll write a sequel, but after reading over this several times I just couldn't find a way to continue it, even though I had chapters lined up. The ending is not perfect, but I'm satisfied and hopefully everyone else is too. ^_^


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